Train's Talk
by Ideas265
Summary: Why would someone travel to Ecuador? Maybe it's because he's the only one left who hasn't got a medal. Maybe he feels it's the right thing to do. Maybe he wants to be a dishwasher. A story of Gilbert (aka Prussia) as he falls down and gets back up.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Hetalia

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The ticket man pushed the money back to him.

"You're not old enough, kid. I can't let you leave the country without a guardian." Slapping his hand on the counter, he pushed the money back to the ticket man, straightening his back so he could look taller and older.

"I have the money. Hey, I'll double what I'm giving you now. Just give me my dang ticket, _schnell!_" Chest puffed, the ticket man called for the next person in line. "Whoa, I'm not done yet!"

"And I have very busy people who _are _of age. Next person in line, please."

Now, he stood his ground, glaring with his bloodshot eyes. "You can't treat me like this! I have the right to get a ticket."

"And I have the right to throw you in jail for the next few months or years, young man," the ticket man threatened, face turning purple. "Will the next person in line please come up?"

And that's how he, the "young man", was later sitting at the waiting area of the train station. Okay, if he was nicer and bucked up to triple the paid amount, then _maybe _he would've gotten his ticket. He kicked his leg at the wall. Okay, maybe his bro was right about taking anger management classes, but that dude had no right to talk to him like that. Pulling the folded map of America and Mexico from his pocket, he glanced down at the train he was hoping to board—the one that went right through Mexico and into Ecuador.

Crumbling the map, he looked around for a family, a Spanish-speaking one. Three seats away, a father and his twin sons were playing a game of I Spy. Even though his Spanish skills were rusty, he was still able to understand a bit of what they were saying. _That's why you're trilingual_, he told himself. Clearing his throat, he moved himself closer to the family, trying to make himself look/act like he belonged. Clearing the German from his throat, he squeezed his brain of any Spanish words it had.

All he knew was _sí_, so that was the word he placed his money on. Smiling, he went along and "played" I Spy with the family, nodding a lot and saying _sí_. About ten minutes later, the father gathered his sons and boarded a train—a different one. His train was here anyway, so he stayed with them until the last second before boarding his destined one.

Finding a spot next to a business woman, he sat down and waited for the train to fill. _Once the train gets out of here, I'll be officially on my own_, he thought, fingering through his wallet. Did Ecuador even _use _American dollars? He'd have to exchange at a bank, but what about talking to the bank person? _Google translate will be my friend, I guess. _Job, he had it planned out. He'd pretend he was a German immigrant and work as the dishwasher until his life magically becomes successful. Yes, that was the plan.

Nodding through-and-through, he watched as the train station began to disappear as the train lurched forward, building speed. Stretching, he was about to take a nap before hearing the clicks of ticket puncher. The sound…it was getting closer. He looked around and saw a restroom, empty. But, he still needed his spot when he comes back. Brain fired, he looked at the business woman.

"Excuse me, Miss." The woman didn't even look up from the book she was reading. _Okay, let's try some Spanish._ Racking his brains, he spilled a jumble of words that seemed to make sense to him. "_Señora_—" the woman looked up from her book, interested. "_Por favor, comer mi lugar mientras yo voy a nadar. Dígale al oficial que soy tu abuelo_." The woman looked at him, clearly interested. She gave him a toothy grin before speaking—a language that was neither Spanish nor German. But he didn't have time to figure it out. He glided to the restroom and locked the door. Pulling down the toilet lid, he sat on top and messed with his phone. _Half an hour seems good_, he thought, thinking about the life he'd been planning. Scrolling through the phone numbers he had brought back the memories.

The sweet laugh of his girl as they walked home together one Christmas echoed in his ears. The charred smell of _wurst _as his brother made dinner. The smiles and jokes his friends provided him on those lonely Sundays when he babysat two Italian brothers. And, the satisfaction of teasing the school's famed pianist every morning and afternoon for the past seven years. _Yeah, while they're off to college or whatnot, here I am going to Ecuador to be a dishwasher._

Seeing his friends and brother's faces as they wore those black hats and received their medals and certificate burned his throat. He was stuck being a dishwasher while they're off curing cancer and being the next Mozart or Chopin. Sighing, he scrolled through his new messages, wondering how long it would take for anyone to notice he was gone. A message from his girl caught his attention.

_Hey, Gil, where are you?  
I feel like I don't see you anymore.  
Did you go away?  
Are you disappearing from me?  
I know I'll never forget you.  
And I and the others and your brother won't either.  
Are you playing hide-and-seek with us?  
You're hiding spot is good, I'll say.  
Remember how easy it was to find you in pre-K?  
Tell me where you are, I promise.  
I'll be there for you._

"The man came around, so I said that my nephew's in the restroom. He's going to come back. Leave when this train stops. I saved your spot, but to live in Mexico, you'll have to do better Spanish than the mush you gave me. It's not Ecuador or wherever you were going, but it'll do until you get to your last spot," the woman said, real fast with French flair. "Hey, what's up?"

"N-Nothing, I got dust in my eyes," he growled, taking his spot. Rolling her eyes, the woman pulled out a thousand pesos.

"It's about seventy-six dollars, enough to board another train and take a lesson in Spanish," she puffed. "Don't make me regret giving it to you."

"Thank you, Missus."


	2. Chapter 2

**Long story short, this wasn't intended to be a two shot. After posting the first chapter, I thought it was done. But, people started telling me to write another chapter. That's when I realized I accidently left the story on "in progress". In spirit of Gilbert/Prussia, I made one more chapter. The LAST one, I tell you. In true Hetalia style, it won't be a disappointment, hopefully. I don't own Hetalia. But, I do own the OCC-ness I sort of made in this chapter. If I owned Hetalia, Prussia/Gilbert should be more emotional.**

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Gil was smart. He had a bright head, and, he _wasn't _going to fall for the mistake again. Whipping out his trusty friend, Google Translate, he typed up the words he needed, memorized them, and proceeded to the ticket person. It was a woman this time. Her face was lined and she smelled like old sweet spices, but she just another obstacle, another obstacle is his ambitious plan.

"_Señora, si está bien, me gustaría comprar un billete de tren para Ecuador. Mi madre no se siente bien, así que necesito para llegar a ella. __Por favor, ¿me pueden ayudar?" _For the finishing act, he rubbed his sneakers together and looked down, sadly. _Better for her to believe I'm younger than I really am, right?_

The woman looked at Gil with a raised eyebrow. She understood his request clearly but the language seemed odd for a person like him. Pale skin and weird accent…shrugging, she gave him the ticket.

"_El tren estará aquí en quince minutos. __No llegues tarde, jovencito_," she warned him, handing him the ticket. Gil pushed all his pesos to the woman and walked to the waiting room, trying not to look too happy. He was just fifteen minutes away from fulfilling his goal, going to Ecuador.

Smiling at his ticket, he squished himself into a corner and checked his phone. His girl's lonely message was still there. Swiping around, he deleted it. _It's best to eliminate all traces_, he thought, proceeding to his phone numbers. His friends' were there, his girl's, that pianist's, and his brother's. He knew their numbers by heart, but it was time to let go.

He started with the pianist. They first met as kids in church school. Opposites they were, both eventually found something they _both _enjoyed, music. Though it was different tastes, they put up with it for the other's sake. The long afternoons where Gil would flick his pencil shavings at the pianist when he was bored in class really made his day. Yeah, the pianist would fight back with words and Gil would counter with his flying fists, but, they weren't that different after all.

"_My parents want me to take over the family business after college. 'Music isn't going to take you anywhere. It's a waste of your time'."_ His imitation of their voices was spot on. "_But, I enjoy music. It's the real me. They don't see it._"

"_Rebel_," Gil suggested, slapping a sandwich together. "_Run away, or change your identity. It works in movies." _The pianist stared down at his juice box, thinking. He only looked up when Gilbert said, _"Just tell them up front. They might not care now, but when they see your dedication to the piano, they're bound to change your minds. You're smart, likeable, and an all A-student. Why should you give up your dreams for someone else? That's stupid…" _Flinching at the looks in the pianist's eyes, Gilbert bit into his sandwich. "_But, I'm stupid anyway. Don't take my advice."_

"_For an idiot, you have good ones_," the pianist smiled. "_I, Roderich Edelstein, hereby declare you a wise man." _Gilbert laughed, slapping Roderich's thigh. It was the first time Roderich ever made a joke. It was the first time he ever laughed back.

_Goodbye old pal_, Gil sighed, deleting the number. The digits were still fresh in his mind, so Gilbert thought of other things—wurst, pancakes, his girl, Ludwig, etc… Numbers gone, he attacked his friends' numbers, Francis and Toni.

Long history short, they met in pre-school and bonded well over the next fifteen years. Fifteen years of detentions, classes, afternoons, summers, weekends, and birthdays spent with each other. The lone nights when they watched old scary movies at twilight, the section of the playground they conquered in second grade, and texting to each other during detention all came to Gil's mind.

Francis, the romance guru, dreamed of being cupid. Toni, the strong tomato lover, dreamt of being a tomato and a farmer. And there was him, Gilbert Beilschmidt—a wurst lover and 'future' dishwasher of the grand restaurant, St. Matt's Grill and Bar. Just before graduation, he, Toni, and Francis played their final prank on the teachers.

It was simple as taking pasta from a Feli. Francis was to report a massive outbreak of zombies. Toni was to wear gray makeup and 'try' to 'attack' the teachers during break. Then, the awesome Gilbert would swoop in, 'beat up' Toni, and wow the teachers before spraying them with a water gun. That was a plan that went wrong.

"_Do you think they're going to fail us, ami?_" Francis asked, rubbing Toni's makeup.

"_Nah, they're too shocked to do anything."_

"_They'll fail you instead. Ever thought of that, jokester?_" Toni mumbled, squiring the water gun at Gil's jeans. "_Your career's circling the drain. Apologize and beg for forgiveness."_

_ "Nah, the teachers love me too much!_"

_Then why are you here while everyone's ready for college_, Gil bit back, deleting Francis and Toni's numbers. His friends, the only ones that tried to fix him straight, were no more. They were strangers now. He failed on their advice. They wouldn't need him. Instead of the Bad Touch Trio, it could be the Bad Touch Dou. _You donkey, you had a chance but screwed it up._

Biting his lip, Gil scrolled over to his girl's number. His thumb was ready to press delete, but his heart had different ideas. He was stuck, paralyzed. Why would he delete the number of the one he loved? Why would he delete the number of the person that loved him back? Gil's tight throat caught up to him. Her words, her small sweet words… He couldn't forget them.

"_Hey, it's okay,_" she whispered in his ear, squeezing Gil into a hug. Running a hand through his hair, she bit back, "_We'll still see each other._" His throat was too tight back then. He vowed never to let anyone see him cry, but…it was too much to handle. Gil hugged her back, tighter and tighter. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't want her to fade away.

When Gil eventually calmed down, she told him, "_I used to think I should make a living off writing. My papers were always good, people recommended me to publishing companies, and I always had fresh ideas. But, after seeing their life style, I decided to be a Chemical Engineer researcher._"

"_Why? Why would you give up something you love?_"

"_Well, most writers have part time jobs and the money back swings around too much. There's never a guarantee. You'll always be competing against others and work solo for the rest of your life. I can't do that, Gil. You mean too much to me._" She touched his hand.

"_All your work…it's a waste._"

"_It'll make me stronger. That's something I still need. You should reconsider your idea too. A dishwasher, _please," she drawled. "_You need a job that's stable and you can live on. Can you handle the pressure? Can you make the demand?_"

_I'm sorry_, Gil sniffed, pressing the delete button. His girl's number disappeared. What surprised him more? His hands were shaking like a storm. His eyes wouldn't stop the flow. No matter how many times he wiped the tears away, new ones took their place. '_Can you make the demand?_' her voice rang out. Gil shook his head. '_Can you handle the pressure?'_

"_Nein_," Gil spat in German. Crumbling onto the ground, he smacked his phone against the floor. His friends…gone. Roderich…gone. His girl…gone. His brother…his number was still there. _Forget it! _Without a second thought, he deleted that number too.

It was official. He was alone and on his way to Ecuador. _So, I can get rid of my life there too? Why are you doing this? _Grunting, Gil whacked his head against the wall. Why? He wanted to go, leave, disappear, and vanish from the ones he knew. But, his memories and feelings for them still remained, clouded in his heart. Gil looked up. A train was coming. Was it to Ecuador? He didn't know.

It was coming. It'd be here in a minute or two. His hot phone vibrated in his clammy hands. It was a number, an unknown number. His mind went dizzy. Whose was it? He couldn't remember. His friends' faces…they were a blur in his mind. His girl and Roderich…he didn't know what they looked like anymore. His brother…he didn't know his brother's name anymore.

_What've I done?_ Gil dropped his phone. It was too hot for him anyway. Swiping it on, he answered, "Hello?"

"_Please don't forget the people and place you were from."_

That was it. The voice was so familiar, but who? He craved to hear them talk again. He wanted to hear their voice, but he wanted to see the person at the same time. He knew why. He boarded the train. Hugging the seat pole, he talked with the person, laughing and smiling. Jokes were said and tears of joy were spilled. An announcement from the train speakers rang in.

"_Good afternoon folks. Thank you for riding with us. We should be in Houston, Texas in two hours. From there, if you're going to New York City, board one of the following trains: E477 or E377."_


End file.
